


The Cabin (1/4)

by Angelicasdean



Series: 4 short horror fics [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Arthur being a dumbass but he has a good heart guys, Chains, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Horror, Horses, Hypothermia, Kidnapping, Monsters, Murder Mystery, Not Canon Compliant, Possession, Pre-Canon, Sean being the OG and saving them for a change, Supernatural Elements, Thriller, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Weird Plot Shit, Western, accents are most probably inaccurate, even though he's robbing people in this fic but there's some suspicious shit going on so it's okay, halloween fic, lasting effects of possession?, not gonna explain, of sorts, unknown danger, what are those monsters?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 09:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21242174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelicasdean/pseuds/Angelicasdean
Summary: Should’ve known Sean would it get it wrong somewhere, weren’t abandoned, Arthur could now see as he walked the few short steps to the attic.





	The Cabin (1/4)

When Sean said he’d found a good lead to follow, good enough for them to traverse through the knee-high snow and harsh winds of winter, everybody all but dwindled at the implication. Everyone conveniently found a reason to stay, or better yet, they shied away from any conversation that could lead to them being the second gun to Sean’s surely weak structured plans.

And so, naturally, the burden came to Arthur’s shoulders. Never one to back down from an order, rather, an order directly from Hosea’s subtly pleading words, he took the Irishman’s words and dove headfirst into the unknown.

Should’ve known better.

The snow poured and poured, coating them like fine sugar on one of those fancy pastries Hosea likes. Calliope huffed and puffed under him, snow now almost reaching Arthur’s knees as he pushed her to her limit. Guilt was spreading through him, warming him despite the cold as Calliope shook her head and raised her snout up towards the pouring sky. She was tired, he can tell, and as far as Sean’s concerned, they’d been five minutes away for thirty goddamn minutes.

He should’ve expected the Irishman to get them lost in one of the worst snowstorms Arthur’s had the pleasure to encounter. Should’ve known Sean’s nervous laughs meant it was time to head back home immediately.

But no, Arthur, having the IQ of a mule that got half its brain rotting, soldiered on and convinced himself that the Irishman would find his bearings and they’d go home, colder, sure, but a few hundreds dollars richer.

Slowly and harshly, thirty minutes turned into an hour.

And two.

And then three, until Calliope refused to budge, stomping when Arthur tried to coo support into her flicking ear. To be completely honest, Arthur didn’t want to continue on either. Sean turned to him, jaw clattering in the cold and nose absurdly red. He blows on his hands and Arthur goes to speak up, witty retort half out of his mouth before he spots the black blur behind Sean. He blinks, mouth clambering shut as he drops one hand from the saddle horn and thumbing the cold metal of his pistol.

Calliope snorts, taking a step backwards and shaking her head again. Sean catches the change in Arthur’s expression, his hand falls similarly onto his gun, and he doesn’t turn back as Arthur watches, keeps his eyes focused and ignoring the sound of howling wind in favor of hearing the telltale sound of footsteps through thick snow.

But nothing comes, and Arthur jerks his head to signal Sean to move. Ennis huffs but follows the command, and Calliope senses the unease and follows without burden.

It’s only a few paces after that Arthur shiver, **_not_** because of the cold. His eyes shift, blinking away the tiny snow blobs that coat his eyelashes and squirming in his saddle as the feeling of eyes burning holes at the back of his head intensifies. He’s tempted to look back, but he fears a gun getting shoved against his forehead, or a knife digging into his throat.

But he feels that there’s a third option that he doesn’t know, and doesn’t _want_ to know.

He shakes his head, snow flying from the brim of his hat onto his shoulder, and just as he’s about to complain, just as a way to ignore the creeping feeling of impending doom; Sean squeaks “The Cabin!”

The sharp edges of fear pickling around his chest fade as his shoulders relax, sure enough, the cabin is just as Sean described. Wide and pale in color, small stable off the corner beside a well. It looks just as abandoned as the source said it would be. Arthur wastes no time jumping off of Calliope, landing into a sea of ice, up to his chest almost, and he shivers as snow climbs up his pant leg. Calliope lays down almost instantly when she finds the stable almost snow-free, panting.

Arthur gives her a hearty pat, splurging on her treats and giving her as much as she pleases, peppermint and apples disappearing from his satchel and water dumped into a clean looking bowl. It’s mostly frozen inside the flask, but a good amount splashes down. Satisfied that Calliope can rest and was fed as good as he can manage, he meets Sean inside the cabin.

Sean was midway through tearing down every drawer in his reach, cabinets shoved open with little care, one particular cabinet door flying off its hinges entirely and landing at Arthur’s feet as the Irishman shoves whatever he can into the several bags they’d carried. It’s a little disconcerting, but Arthur doesn’t say anything as he beelines towards the paintings hung around the room, stripping them off the walls and searching for any distinction or change in the wall pattern. Three paintings down and one left, Sean joins his side and watches as Arthur throws the last painting in disappointment. The wall is just as pale and even as the others, wood pattern unchanging, no gaps, _nothing_.

The safe has to be somewhere _else_.

The cabinets and closet have already been searched by Sean, Arthur takes it upon himself to tear into the small bedroom and check under the mattress for any cash, only finding around fifty dollars bundled together.

It’s not what they came for but it’s a start.

Sean’s footsteps follow him into the room, standing beside Arthur quietly as Arthur grins at the sight of metal gleaming under the bed frame. A decently sized lockbox might have the gold Sean promised.

Arthur pulls it out, a small child’s toy rolling from the depth of the bed, and something squeezes at Arthur’s heart. “you didn’t say any kids would be involved, Macguire,” Arthur says, turning to where Sean is.

Or is _supposed _to be. The room is empty aside from Arthur’s presence, and he squints at the quiet. He looks to the lockbox and toy before glancing behind him one more time.

The lock is easily forced broken with his knife, and the lockbox almost snaps open under his touch. The gold shimmers almost seductively, like one of those often polished earrings Molly has, or those awfully expensive necklaces at the jeweler.

Four gold bars, two stacked beside two, and a thick bunch of wads of cash. It’s what Sean promised and more, the fence would probably buy each gold bar for hundreds each, and the cash is no less than a couple hundred themselves.

Which means…

Which means that Arthur doesn’t need to get greedy, if there’s truly a family here, if there’s a _child_, then he should take only as much as it would appease Dutch and leave the rest to the family.

Should’ve known Sean would it get it wrong somewhere, weren’t abandoned, Arthur could now see as he walked the few short steps to the attic. Pictures of a warm looking family scattered amongst several beds, Arthur counts them 6 tiny beds and a crib.

None are present, though, none of the family seem to be around. They must’ve fled from the harsh winter snow, the cabin isn’t small by any means, which means they probably have enough money to travel somewhere.

He only idly searches the desks and nightstands he finds, swiping a few fancy-looking pens and a pipe, as well as a silver ancient-looking compass that he doesn’t plan on selling.

Something glitters in the dark, catching his eyes. Arthur, almost magnetized, follows the shine, and finds something he had no intention of seeing today.

A pair of weathering handcuffs drilled into the wall, thick and _shined. _And all the deniability Arthur could’ve feigned flew out of the window as he spotted the rest of the rows. Six handcuffs, all clean and new looking, and stains of blood splattering the floorboards. Fading, looking like someone did their damnest to scrub the floor clean.

All the possibilities fly in and out of his mind, and there’s an overwhelming urge that takes over Arthur to find Sean and stick to his side like glue. Something is awfully wrong here, six children’s beds and six handcuffs aren’t a mixture he likes, a mixture Arthur doesn’t even want to know how it came together.

He abandons his purpose, turning on his heel and stumbling back when he finds a corner of the attic particularly shaded. His eyes have adjusted well enough that he can see the outline of a man, and his hand goes to draw his pistol, only that something hard hits the side of his head.

His teeth clatter inside his skull as he crumbles to the ground, blinking rapidly as he crawls towards his fallen pistol, fingers wrapping around the grip only a second too late as another hit shatters his skull, and everything turns a torrid shade of black.

\--

The pins and needles stabbing at the side of his mind are overshadowed by whatever hit his cheek. He blinks away, moving to swipe at his temple, knowing full well it won’t help with the pain of his throbbing headache. His wrist falls limb when something shackles him back, and he’s hit with the memory of finding his nightmares up in that attic.

“Morgan, ey! _Morgan_,” Sean’s voice whispers, and Arthur blinks up towards him, shivering when he finds that his coat had been taken from him.

“What?” he snaps and Sean glares at him, “who the hell were those guys? God,” the chains were too small for him, and that raises a concerning question. He hoists himself off the ground, Sean scrambling to copy, and tries to pull the chain off of the wall.

“it won’t budge, I tried,” Sean says miserably, “been tryin, you’ve been out for some time, reckon it’s that big ol’ ugly bump on ya head,”

“They didn’t knock _you_ out?” Arthur asks, almost accusingly, bringing his free arm up to his temple. Blood is crusting the edges of his hairline, and by how awful his head is pounding and how uneven everything seems, Arthur would bet he has a nice decorative concussion.

Great.

“Nasty fuckers tried, but I had me guns out, yeah, ya boy Sean was _ready_,” a cocky grin spreads across his features, but his eyes aren’t shining like they usually do, “they had _you _all tied already, put a gun to ya head, threatened me, they did,”

“and?”

“and? And they woulda blown your head off! I couldn’t let that happen! What should Dutch say?” Sean raises a defeated hand.

“Glad to know your priorities are straight,” Arthur mumbles and Sean crosses his arms with difficulty, turning almost sideways.

“did it so you wouldn’t die, should be grateful, soggy ol’ bastard,” Sean says under his breath, and Arthur pays him no mind as he checks his pockets. With his coat, his gunbelt is also missing, so are his boots and socks.

Goddammit, those were his favorite pair.

Not to mention he’s freezing, Sean doesn’t look to be missing anything but his hat and gunbelt. Irish luck, maybe, but the bastard looks snug in his coat and boots.

“anything in your reach?” Arthur asks and Sean shakes his head, “don’t you have a shiv in your boot?”

Sean’s face flushes, and Arthur suppresses a groan. Of course. “It weren’t me fault!” Sean almost shouts, leaning towards Arthur when his voice got louder, “Five minutes, I swear, it was five minutes away from cutting me leg off!”

“Those five minutes could have saved our lives, you dumbass,” Arthur argues back, “and ‘sides, that’s why you have a leather wrap around it!”

“I’m allergic!”

“then use fabric!”

“Aw, it’s no use now, anyway!” Sean points a finger at Arthur “You shoulda kept your eyes peered, it ain’t me fault you got jumped.”

“Yeah, well it’s not _my _fault that you didn’t shoot the two bastards and got us out of here when you could’ve!” Arthur says in anger, turning towards where the chain connects to the wall. It’s wood, goddamnit, he should be able to pry it out. He punched through wood before.

“didn’t want you to die,” Sean admits after a beat of silence, “I’m sorry, if we don’t make it, it’s my fault,” Arthur turns, shocked expression unveiled. Some part of him wants to bark a sarcastic comment, or agree, but Sean looks defeated.

Well, if he accepts their death, Arthur won’t.

“You can explain this to Dutch when we get back,” Arthur says instead, “and you’re buying me a beer… or two, “

“buy you the whole damn saloon,” Sean mumbles quietly and Arthur huffs a sort of laugh. These chains, if his assumptions are right, were made to keep younger people in check.

He’s not young, nor does he have any intentions of bending to the reasoning. It might take his elbow breaking _or_ his wrist, but if he can just get out of here, then he could shoot Sean’s chains off, and _then_ the Irishman could lead them away from this godawful place.

He twists the chain around his forearm, giving an experimental tug before adjusting his footing, taking a deep breath and bringing both his hands together. His hands are sweaty despite how cold he’s feeling, and with all the might he can muster, he pulls. The hinges pull at the wall, and there’s a low creak that echoes from the wall.

“Oh, shite! You’re doing it, go on!” Sean beams, his chains rattling as he steps to the side.

Arthur adjusts his hold again, closes his eyes and pulls. He leans his weight back, and slowly, as Arthur tries to step away from the wall, the wood starts to crack and creak readily. Arthur pauses when his wrist clicks, wrapping the chain once around his free arm and pulling again.

Finally, with a loud crack, the wood breaks and he stumbles backward till he falls flat on his ass. The missing board scatters around the floor, following the chain that drags behind Arthur’s hand.

Wasting no time, Arthur pulls himself to his feet, ignoring the pain starting to spread from his arm as the weight of the chain hangs limply on his wrist. He grabs the closest gun, Sean revolver, tossing it to him.

Sean, thankfully, catches it. Arthur fumbles one-handedly with his gunbelt; grabbing it from the rack it had been hanging from and almost dropping it when the door burst open.

Shit, those sneaky bastards didn’t make a goddamn sound.

Arthur freezes when the man’s face comes into view, mask covering it. Black soulless eyes watching his every move and teeth where his lips should be. He blinks dumbly, watching as the man’s face opens and too-red tongue sticking out with a hiss.

Shit.

_That ain’t no goddamn mask._

The man-the _thing_ lunges at him, and _that’s _when Sean decides to shoot. The bullet catches at the base of the man’s throat, and a horrid choking sound tumbles out of its chest before a vaguely angry snarling sound replaces the gurgles.

If it had lips, Arthur would be sure it would have been snarling at him. Arthur grabs at his chances, taking the pistol out of its holder and letting the gunbelt drop in favor of shooting the man’s head, point-blank.

Only then does it fall to the ground, crimson almost black blood pouring out. His partner stares, equally black eyes somehow glaring at the both of them, now that Arthur’s not hyper fixated on its goddamn mouth, he can see that there are _no _eyes. Eye socket _empty_, not even eyelids. The skin looks charred and damaged up to its eyebrows and down to its mouth. Sean shoots again, this time, several bullets at a time, all landing at variant degrees of head, neck, and side.

It stares at Arthur for a moment more, almost calmly, before crumbling into mere ashes, and somehow, Arthur feels like it wasn’t the bullets that did that.

They both stare at the small mountain of black ashes, and before any of them could collect themselves, thumping starts from upstairs.

“Help! Please! Are they dead?” a woman calls, and Arthur snaps his gaze from the ceiling down to Sean, who’s staring back at him just as distrusting.

“Shoot your chain off,” Arthur commands and Sean nods, taking aim and shooting the cuffs off the wall while Arthur goes to pull the attic ladder down.

“Arthur, look,” Sean’s voice cuts him off, and Arthur turns to find the Irishman kneeled beside the ashes, fingers stained in black with keys dangling off his index finger. It’s almost _too _black, like a void in existence condensed into the shape of a key.

“is it for…?” Arthur raises his wrist, and Sean raises a shoulder. Well, one way to find out.

Arthur extends his hand, and Sean barely gets within an inch to the cuffs before he pauses. “Key’s too big, don’t look possible,” he says and Arthur drops his hand promptly. Figures.

Key looks too malicious to be for a cuff, not that a cuff is friendly either.

“Alright,” Arthur nods to himself, “Let’s check up _there_,” he jabs his finger towards the ceiling, and Sean’s expression turns sour

“What if… there’s more of em up there? You know…” he shifts to one foot, hand wrapping around his pistol tightly.

Arthur glances up, and as if on command, another thump echoes, “Please! Is anyone there?” the woman’s voice pleads and Arthur wagers his doubt and guilt. They could take the safer route… something definitely feels _off_.

Then again…

“You stay down here, I-I’ll check it out and if anything happens, you run,” Arthur says, and Sean shakes his head.

“and if you get shot, what am I supposed to do then?” Sean asks, taking a step back, “could be a trap, bastards don’t seem like ones that would leave victims alive, do they?”

Arthur stares at the body, skin looking like its already halfway rotted. The ashes are still black as night. “No,” He shakes his head, and Sean casts his eyes upwards, “but we should check,”

Sean closes his eyes, shoulders tensing before he nods stiffly, “alright, then,” Sean says through clenched teeth, “You keep watch for your left, I’ll make sure the right is clear? Just so we don’t get jumped?”

“Sean Macguire,” Arthur tsks, despite the situation, a little pride swells inside his chest. Sean’s finally coming up with good ideas, Lenny truly _has _been a good influence.

He chooses to ignore that Sean’s idea is what set them here anyway.

“Don’t mention it,” Sean says quietly, walking past Arthur and pulling the stairs fully down, “least if someone knocks me out I’ll tumble down here,”

“that’s the spirit, I guess,” Arthur nods for Sean to climb up, and the Irishman gives a shaky tense smile before starting to make his way up.

When he’s finally in the attic, Arthur hurries behind him, pulling his pistols out as the darkness folds around them, blinding him.

It’s _too _dark. Almost seems _impossibly_ dark, and his gut twists as he glances around. Sean grabs onto Arthur’s wrist, startling the older man, “Look,” Sean hisses, and Arthur squints into the darkness. There’s a shape trembling just at the corner of the attic.

This _screams_ danger, but somethings pulls Arthur to get closer. Morbid curiosity, maybe. Hosea always said he was too nosy for his own good, but never as actual advice.

“Alright, I-I’ll go and see if they need help, you shoot if it tries to kill me,” Arthur pitches, “sound like a plan?”

“just… yeah, okay, I’m half blind in here, though,” Sean warns, and Arthur bites the inside of his cheek.

“I trust you,” Arthur says, and Sean’s hand tightens around his wrist for a second before releasing “alright, then,” he nods to himself, holding the gun steadily as he walks carefully to the corner. The chain rattles behind him, sending a shiver up his spine as he stands barely a foot away from the trembling shadow. Somehow it hadn’t gotten bigger as he approaches, what he _assumes_ is a head only reaching his waist, _at best._

He glances at the vaguely Sean shaped silhouette, “keep an eye for the stairs, too,” Arthur whispers, and Sean looks behind him quickly, before turning back and giving a jerky nod.

Arthur looks towards the shaking shape in front of him, pit forming in his stomach as he reaches out, barely touching its shoulder before he finds himself stumbling backward as a face swims into his vision.

It’s a few seconds later that he _hears_ its screams, head swimming with whiplash as he takes another few steps back. He blinks stupidly into the darkness as his footing fails him, and he trips over something that rolls under his toes.

Sean swears loudly as screams turn into sobs, his footsteps echoing loudly as he hurries to Arthur’s side.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and only then does Arthur remember that he needs to breath to live.

Despite how cold he was mere minutes ago, his entire body shakes with fearful sweat now, forehead soaking his hairline as he brings a shaky hand to brush a fallen strand of hair back.

“I’m fine, yeah,” Arthur croaks, chest heaving while he’s blinking away the forming image in his mind. Long hair and bloody face somehow piecing together from what little he saw, rancid breath and a shriek that of a _banshee_. He shivers again, grabbing onto Sean’s arm, “think our times due,” Sean says and Arthur nods, climbing onto his feet unevenly and hurrying behind Sean as they hastily exit the attic. Sean doesn’t bother with stairs, jumping down and landing with a thud.

Just as Arthur starts to descend the stairs, his wrist pulls him slightly upwards, and he yelps as his shoulder strains against the sudden pressure.

“No!” the woman’s voice shrieks, and Arthur freezes as a pale hand starts to reach from the attic, “You’re not leaving!” her voice deepens for a moment, and Arthur tugs his hand away from it, trying to take the final few steps down, but the chain keeps him dangled by his wrist.

He turns behind him, panic blinding him as he spots Sean staring in awe at the hand, Arthur snaps his gaze back when he feels the icy grip on his forearm. The breath stills in his throat as the touch grows warmer and warmer, and it’s suddenly ten times colder than it was before.

Something tugs at the edge of his mind, vision turning grey as he is spines seems to crumble _inside_ his body, nerves fraying, going off like fireworks underneath his skin.

An odd mixture between pain and numbness, brain seemingly molding _or _melting inside his skull.

The grey shades his eyes see darken, and his lip curls as something sharp stabs at the back of his eyes. Something muffled blows behind him and the world bleeds away from black to grey again. He’s acutely aware that he’s falling, and that he’s shivering uncontrollably, but all he can do is watch the dark fingernails curling at the edge of the attic stairs, only knuckles visible.

“Goddamnit, Morgan, come back to me, _please_!” Sean screams, and his warm hands seem to burn right through Arthur’s shirt. He blinks several times, black fading completely as he moves to glance at Sean, eyes wide with fear as he shakes Arthur’s shoulder, “We gotta get away! We gotta leave, _please_!”

Arthur nods, forcing his hands to push him up, Sean helping by grabbing his arm and hauling him upwards. He shivers, stumbling a step before Sean places a warm hand on his chest. “stay with me Morgan, _please_, just keep breathing,”

Sean guides them towards the door, and down the stairs where he grabs Arthur’s coat, which had been thrown beside the door and his boots.

“Come on, come on, _quick_, please,” Sean repeats under his breath as he helps Arthur into his coat, the world still sluggish and grey as Sean forces him to sit on a step and raise each foot. He shoves the boots on with little care and grabs Arthur’s arm, tugging him upwards and forcing open the cabin door as soon as he was dressed.

Their horses nicker as they round around the cabin and Sean stands nervously as Arthur slowly climbs into the saddle. Calliope almost takes off before Arthur nudges her to move, Ennis and Sean bolting away with Sean halfway into the saddle. Without needing to, Calliope takes off after them.

Arthur grabs the saddle horn tightly, stomach in knots as his entire body shivers, arm burning, and only then does he realize that most of the chain around his wrist is missing; only a short bit that barely goes halfway down his forearm remaining.

He shakes his head, turning numb as Calliope speeds up, despite how hard it is to navigate the terrain. On one particularly hard lurch, Arthur gives up, slumping into his saddle and closing his eyes and letting Sean and their horses lead the way.

\--

The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is the roof of his tent.

He blinks the several spots that fill his vision and tries to shift around, only to find that his arms are firmly held close to his chest.

That’s when he realizes something _must _be wrong.

He wiggles around, blinking uncontrollably as his arms stay stuck to his chest. He looks to the side and notices that the snow is still piled high outside his tent and that their horses are still hiding away from the snow under the small makeshift stable Mac and Davey built with the help of Lenny.

Calliope turns towards him, her mane still braided and her coat shining with little specks of snow stuck to her fine black fur. She stared straight at him, exiting the stable and trespassing through the campgrounds to poke her head into his tent.

She gives a small nicker as a greeting, and Arthur wants to extend his hand and pat her nose but can’t, so, instead, he mumbles quietly a greeting in return.

She bobs her head, almost hitting the table as she takes a step forward, closer to Arthur. Something warm swells in his chest as she blows a breath towards him, lips smacking together. Her head bows downwards, only for a moment. After, she retreats and walks to the entrance of his tent.

“Awh, goddamnit!” a familiar voice groans and Calliope turns before hastily returning to the stable, “How many times. _Jenny_! I told you to keep her away from Arthur’s tent!” Dutch yells, and Arthur listens as Jenny throws back a half excuse half-apology back.

“Dutch?” Arthur calls, and footsteps quickly crunch in the snow before Dutch appears at the entrance of his tent, steaming mug in hand and star-struck expression unmasked.

“Arthur?” he asks, and Arthur blinks at him in confusion, “is it you?”

“Who else would it be?” Arthur retorts, but his tone turns into confusion rather than sarcasm.

“Oh God, it really _is _you,” Dutch says, turning both ways quickly before shouting, “Hosea! Grimshaw! Come here!”

Dutch doesn’t wait for them before hurriedly entering the tent, pressing a cold hand to Arthur’s forehead before grinning down at him. Only up close does Arthur notice how worn down he looks, but he doesn’t get to dwell before Dutch’s strangely shaky hands start to pry away whatever is tying Arthur’s arms down.

“what’s happening? Is he-“ Hosea stumbles into view, and slowly, Arthur registers the lack of color he’s seeing.

“He’s awake! Really awake, not whatever was… I don’t even know, but-but _he’s back,_” Dutch explains, “Arthur?”

“Hm?” He hums in response, Grimshaw and Hosea crowding against his bed distracting him for a moment.

“Do… do you remember what happened?” Dutch asks, eyes worried and careful as he pulls away the final rope, and Arthur finally moves his arms.

“Don’t remember anything past getting out of…” he slowly remembers the events, memories flashing in horrible images in his mind. He glances up at Hosea, “is Sean okay?”

“He’s fine, didn’t sleep for days after, especially with all that was happening with you-“

“what? “ Arthur interjects and Dutch pauses, looking towards Hosea, lost for words.

“You were… _weird_ ... weren’t wake for a few days, weren’t even _yourself_. Sean told us what happened in the cabin, said you almost died by a weird witch demon thing.” Hosea explains slowly

“He said you started shivering and turning grey, said even you hair started to turn black and eyes started to, as well,” Dutch adds, “Then he shot a couple shots to get her off you, and you weren’t speaking for a good few minutes after he got you away, till you started blinkin’ and chokin’. Coughed up some weird lookin blood and had your eyes turn from black to normal,”

“scared the shit out of him,” Hosea says, “then you were knocked out for most of the way back, Sean thought you was dead,”

“and for a while we thought too,” they share a glance, “you were cold as ice, had this weird print burnt on your arm, coughed up blood for a couple of nights and screamed whenever we tried to give you medicine or wrap up your arm,” Dutch sighs, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his hair.

“then you started to do some… weird stuff, shaking, tried to gouge out Grimshaw’s eyes when she was feedin’ you, said some disturbing stuff,” Hosea almost shivers, hands clenching and relaxing as he blows a breath that fogs the air, “Eyes were black some nights, others you looked blind,”

“thought you were possessed, Morgan,” Grimshaw said softly, “reckoned if you got any bit worse, we’ll have to… to put you down,” she purses her lips.

“How long was that?” Arthur asks, voice uneven as Hosea closes his eyes.

“little over two weeks now,” Grimshaw answers, “you started to get better two nights ago, stopped shaking randomly, and stopped being all aggressive and… _scary.”_

“We didn’t believe Sean, not till you started to act so…” Dutch trails off.

“Demonic?” Arthur finishes for him and Dutch casts an apologetic glance towards him “I don’t remember none of that…”

“small blessing, then,” Hosea says firmly, “We was scared for a moment there, couple more days and we would’ve-“

“Yeah,” Arthur cuts off, “I’m sorry,”

Hosea looks at him, eyes calculating, “You must be starving,” he says, and even if Arthur truly isn’t hungry, he nods. He can see a lifeline when he’s offered one.

“Did we at least get the money?” Arthur asks, and Dutch snorts behind him.

“Yeah, son, you _did_ get the money,” he chuckles as Arthur sits up, hand landing reassuringly on his shoulder, “Welcome back, Arthur,” he smiles widely, and Arthur returns it as he stretches his limbs.

“Thanks, Dutch”

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr is Samwrittenbysam !!


End file.
